Origin
by amidoh
Summary: From humble beginnings, Cedric makes his way up to being Phobos' faithful second in command. Just as Phobos, from sanity, managed to turn himself into a power crazed tyrant. Was any of their evil justifiable? Events from before Phobos' reign will show.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own W.I.T.C.H. I'm not really sure whether this fanfic is more faithful to the Disney animated version or the original comics; it's a sort of bastard child of the two, I suppose.

**Author Note:** There may or may not be specific romance when I develop this. I'm not starting it with any pairings in mind. Flames for any pairings that pop up are not acceptable. (There will most likely be some very ambiguous moments, though :3)

**Version crap**: Phobos and Cedric will be their **_Anime_** forms as opposed to their comic selves. Sorry, but I know the anime a bit better than I know the comics, so I can better describe their screen versions.

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**Origin**

**A fanfiction by amidoh**

**Chapter 1 - The One that Reeks of Blood.**

The morning sun cast golden hues on the umber bark of the trees that littered the outskirts of Meridian city. The bustling streets were filled with tradesmen selling their wares, bustling shoppers, beast-trainers and grooms with their steeds and mounts; all kinds of humanoids were out with friendly greetings for each other, blissfully dwelling in the utopia maintained by their beloved queen and her royal consort. This was life everyday, now. The beauty was a permanent fixture. The queen was powerful enough to maintain her own life-force and that of all the citizens with only a little help from her husband. The guards stationed at the castle on the crag and at the entrances to Metamoor's capital city were little more than a precaution against monsters, as there had been peace for as long as any living creature - and some of them lived for centuries - could remember.

Not everybody could appreciate the beauty of the wonderful morning. There was always someone who would have had terrible news, or who would have some other reason to grieve; without sadness, happiness cannot be appreciated, even in a wonderful place like Metamoor. It was a philosophy that the Metamoorians had learned to live with and value as their own.

Today's bad news had delivered itself to the Crown Prince Phobos, next in line for the throne of Metamoor - or, at least, until this morning, that was what he had been. This morning, his position had been taken from him in one fell swoop and given to an unborn baby - a little sister that he would have in perhaps half a year's time, apparently. After five hundred years, his mother was pregnant again, with a girl. The ancient customs of Metamoor decreed that a female would _always_ have priority to the throne, no matter whether she was firstborn or not.

Phobos was not unpopular in Meridian. He was famous enough, as one would expect, but whenever he was out walking, people's eyes would seem to glide over him, or see straight through him, as though he was not there at all. He was handsome enough, with long, carefully braided platinum hair and soul-searching steel green eyes, but he was almost always seen with the same expression. It was a mix of boredom and lethargy, and it seemed to create an aura about him that dissuaded anybody from getting too close to him.

Today was no different, though perhaps the air very close to him was half a degree cooler than usual. Today, the prince walked the streets of Meridian to try to calm himself, though he was as languid as usual, never betraying anything on his attractive face. He hardly knew where he was going, just that it was calming to hear the ordinary people go about their morning life. Without a care in the world… gods above, he wished that he could be like them too.

Hmm, what was this? Something had bounced off his foot. Phobos looked down absently - it was a piece of bloody meat, grimy with the dust from the road. A startled exclamation caused the cold grey eyes to rise from the meat to light upon a small child - a boy, by the looks of it, clad in filthy rags. His golden blonde hair was matted with dirt and fearful purple eyes looked up at the aristocrat as the little pauper cowered.

How strange. The stench of death had filled the sorcerer's head, so strong that, at first, it threatened to overpower him. That couldn't possibly come from this child… could it?

Phobos stared down with what could have been disdain or pity. It was obvious that this boy had been chasing the hunk of flesh - his hands were bloody - and that it would probably end up as his breakfast. He watched with interest as the child's eyes went from fear to hope and then straight back to fear.

"S-sire?" It seemed that the little street rat had recognised the great prince. His voice was nothing more than a whisper. Phobos' expression didn't change at all; he wasn't a kind man by nature, and today he was in a much worse mood than usual. Perhaps having a little fun would alleviate his temper?

"How dare you speak to me, you vermin?" Phobos thrust his pale face towards the unfortunate boy, keeping his voice soft, silky and dangerous. A flicker of a smirk showed itself. "You'll have to be punished…"

The words seemed to have a strange effect on Phobos' terrified victim. Instead of tearfully grovelling, as the prince had assumed he would, the child clutched at himself, backing away until he hit the wall of the building on the opposite side of the street. Upon seeing Phobos come closer to him, the nameless blonde let out a grunt of what appeared to be pain as his muscles rippled. His hands clenched into fists, a flash of claws appearing momentarily. For a split-second, Phobos thought he saw fangs and a forked tongue, and then a tail seemed to grow, disappearing before he could get a proper glimpse at it.

The prince stared at the boy, who seemed to have got himself under control. A shapeshifter - they were unusual these days, or at least, they were outside of the boondocks.

…This had lost its fun. Phobos turned away. At least he was now calm enough to return to the castle without cursing his parents for what they'd done.

He was only halfway down the street when a commotion behind him disturbed him and caused him to stop. A loud tirade of different voices shouting had broken out.

"_You monster! Get out of Meridian!"_

"_Beast! Fiend!"_

"_Slither back to the swamp where you belong, snake!"_

The prince turned to see a huddle of Meridian citizens crowded around the same small boy he had just left. They were throwing stones at him, menacing him with sticks, pokers… but he wasn't the same golden-haired boy any more. Even as Phobos watched, the helpless urchin underwent a transformation into a hideous-looking green naga, with grey-ish hair down to his waist and a long, whiplike tail instead of legs. This only served to make the townspeople angrier and more aggressive.

"_Monster! **Monster!**"_

Phobos half turned away again, his expression passive. This was no business of his. What did he care if one group of stupid people killed an inconsequential shapeshifter? But something wrenched at his mind, stopping him from walking away. Somehow, he felt that perhaps this child knew what it was to be as isolated as _he _was as the prince.

"What is the meaning of this?" He intervened, gliding effortlessly between the plebs and their victim. The reaction was amazing; all the hostility was gone in an instant, and the crowd was on its knees before him. "Why do you attack this boy?"

"My Prince, he is a monster." One of the men mumbled in excuse. "He steals our food and kills our livestock."

"He injured my daughter." An angry, shrew-like woman interjected.

"It's his fault that this generation of cows is diseased. He brought it, he brought it from the swamp. He's dangerous!"

"And yet," the prince interrupted coldly, "it seems to me as though he is as vulnerable as any of your children. I don't suppose for a minute that you would try to stone _them_ to death if they ate your food to stay alive, hmm? Perhaps he is not good enough to live among you, simply because he is not the same as you, hmm? You disgusting creatures. What vile beings you are." The platinum-blonde turned and stalked away, leaving his subjects hanging their heads in shame.

The shapeshifter in question - who had managed to revert to his human form - glanced up at the vengeful people warily and then ran after the withdrawing aristocrat, trying not to be seen.

Phobos realised that he was being followed and headed towards the outskirts of the capital city. Once there, and sensing that the child still pursued him, he stopped still and commanded imperiously: "If you're going to follow me, boy, do it where I can see you."

The nervous youth trailed out from behind one of the houses. His amethyst eyes were hidden behind golden tresses. He trembled visibly as Phobos' steel gaze transfixed him.

"Mmm… 'mm… I… Th-thank y' for…" He stuttered in a tiny, nervous voice. One of Phobos' thin eyebrows raised.

"Your name, boy?"

"C-Cedric…" Came the quiet response.

Phobos sat on the soft grass, in the shade beneath one of Meridian's gorgeous _sakura_ trees. It was in full bloom now; the blossoms were almost ready to fall. Idly, he beckoned Cedric closer. The boy complied anxiously.

"Let me guess." The sorcerer stretched back against the tree trunk. "You don't yet know how to control yourself. You transform when threatened, and that only makes people threaten you more."

"…Yes, Sire…"

"There's nothing I can do for you." He said coldly, dismissing the victim, wintery eyes closing. "Go home."

Cedric stood where he was, dolefully watching Phobos. Upon seeing no change in the prince's expression, he attempted to reason with him.

"There's no food in th'swamp, Sire, and th'people in th'town won' let me live there, they won' let me have any of their food…"

With his eyes closed as they were, Phobos could hear clearly how sibilant and… _snake-like_ the youth's voice was. No wonder the townspeople thought he was a monster.

"Are you trying to manipulate me?" The pale-haired man's thin face arranged itself into a smile that did not reflect in his eyes, or in his voice. "Cedric, are you attempting to appeal to my conscience? To guilt me into offering you a home at the castle as my servant? I am not in the mood for mind games!"

A fearsome magical aura erupted about the prince as he snarled the last sentence. When Phobos opened his eyes, Cedric was cowering some feet away, looking absolutely terrified. After a moment's pause, the mage smirked an icy expression.

"Hrrn, you amuse me, little shapeshifter. I'll make you a deal. I'll take you in to my castle. You will live as my servant, under my roof, and you will eat my food. In return, you will give yourself to me. If I tell you to fight for me, you will fight for me. If I tell you to die for me, then you will die. Do you understand? You will have free will, but if you dare go back on this promise, I will make you regret it."

Cedric felt a touch of uncertainty. Prince Phobos seemed… unpredictable. It was impossible to tell whether he was kind-hearted or cruel, lethargic or simply uncaring, ignoring everything about him… or taking it all in with his quick, steel-coloured eyes. Yet, this offer was better than anything he could gain out on the streets of Meridian, so, with a worried glance about him, he nodded his head.

Phobos twined a loose strand of hair about his fingers, regarding his new servant cynically. That offer had been… very out of character for him. Usually he didn't spare much of a thought for the individual people of Metamoor, even though he had hoped one day to rule them. He put it down to the boy looking as alone and despairing as he felt.

It was either that or hormones.

It was spring, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Origin**

**Chapter 2 - Time Forgotten**

It was mid afternoon. The sun had just passed its zenith, and, because of the recent heatwave, most of the staff in the castle had been granted the rest of the day off work. Some still continued, such as the cooks, who prepared cold summer salad in the shade of the kitchen, and the butler, who kept the royal family refreshed with drinks.

It was because of this that Phobos had the luxorious grounds to himself today. For most of the morning, the prince had emmersed himself in academia, furthering his arcane knowledge and bettering his power; he had regarded his hungry intellect as the most important thing in his life for quite a while now. Through hard work and endlessly straining himself, he had managed to bring his magical potential almost equal to that of his puissant mother. He was immensely proud of this acheivement, as the females of the royal family had always been born with at least twice the innate mana and dormant ability than the males, which was the reason that Metamoor had only ever been sovereigned by women. That would have changed with Phobos' accession... if his mother wasn't expecting a daughter!

The prince's concentration wavered the tiniest bit as he focussed on a hydrangea bush about thirty yards from where he was standing. An irate expression flickered across his face. His pale eyes snapped open as he hissed a command:

_"Explode!"_

A sphere of golden light burst from the middle of the bush, spreading outwards, dazzling the sorcerer. Flames erupted from within the sphere, consuming the bush and the grasses around it, carbonising them instantly and leaving nothing. It was much like a volcanic surge, threatening even to overwhelm Phobos. He hadn't expected himself to be quite this powerful, but, with two complex hand movements, the prince threw up a mana shield, protecting himself from the carbon residue thrown at him. Then there was nothing left but a smouldering stump and a small radius of blackened earth.

Phobos sank to a sitting position, drained of his energy after sustaining such a spell. That had been the most powerful explosion he had managed to date - it was a sure sign that his practise was paying off. Who knew, maybe soon, through dedication and hard work, he would even surpass his mother! Then she would be proud of him, and let _him_ rule Metamoor instead of some unborn girl.

A hissing noise disturbed the silence of the gardens. It came from the Whisperers, tiny nymphs who dwelled within the grey-black rose bushes that scattered the grounds. Phobos had tended to them for centuries, taking a special interest in their growing, and now they were completely loyal to him. They spoke to him. Told him what he needed to know.

"Sstranger..." The voices called quietly through the air, cupping their tiny hands about their mouths in an attempt to amplify their whispers. Still too tired to stand, the thaumaturge turned his head towards the direction the warning was coming from. There, by the castle walls, there was an old keruing tree. From behind the thick trunk there was visible a single purple eye and a shock of messy golden hair.

"Come out, Cedric." Phobos commanded, rolling his eyes and forcing himself to his feet. The young shapeshifter slid guiltily out from his hiding place. About a month had passed since he had been plucked from his harsh life on the street to be a castle servant, and already the boy looked much better. He was no longer quite as thin, he had had a good bath (several, actually) and had been dressed in clothes befitting a manservant. He still, however, insisted on styling his hair in strange ways; it hung at odd lengths, and he had tied a part on the left side of his head into a braid, which hung down over his shoulder. It was completely asymmetrical, and looked most odd.

"That was scary..." Cedric muttered, playing with his fingers and looking at the small crater where a bush had once been. "Haha, I wish I could do that. Then I could've shown those, those bastards as threw things at me."

"Would that not have made them hate you more, hmm?" Phobos asked idly, making a gesture with one hand. A sapling appeared from the ground where the burned bush had been and a gentle smile crossed the prince's face. "I would have thought that you would wish to fit in with them."

"...Wh-who would want to fit in with _them _anyway? I... I never wanted to!"

"Hush." Was the only response from the platinum-haired man, who turned away from his young protege. The child swallowed nervously, not saying anything more. "You think you had the hard life? Ha, what a joke! _Get out of my sight!_"

The Whisperers hissed menacingly at the blonde-haired boy, who quivered in fear and made a dash for the door back into the castle. Phobos stood still, staring after his retreating servant, long black robes billowing and platinum braids buffeted about a little in the slight breeze that picked up. His anger, though contained in an almost expressionless face, still made the rose-nymphs cower under the pressure.

The little shapeshifter ran through the corridors until he was what he considered a safe distance away from his irate master. Even at his young, vulnerable age, Cedric understood that Phobos was unpredictable. The prince's mind worked in odd ways, often faster than most other people would be able to keep up with, even if they could see what he was thinking.

Cedric put his hand on the wall of the corridor he stood in, staring at it. His life was so much better now. All that was left was to be useful to Phobos; after all, why else would the infamous Crown Prince of Metamoor adopt an urchin from the streets, if he did not expect some use from him? On his first day in the castle, after being cleaned up, Cedric had shyly asked one of the maids what she thought the best use for him was. Her answer had been "fight for him". It was an ambiguous statement, as she had had no better answer, but at his young age, Cedric had taken it very literally, and had asked Phobos' permission to take lessons in hand-to-hand combat. There was a master from the countryside who knew nothing of Cedric's true form, and would teach for a very small fee, so, thrice a week, this man was called in to the castle for training.

At first, the blonde boy thought that it would be fun, when he was apt at this combat, to travel down to the city of Meridian and deliver his retribution to all those who had abused him. He told himself what fun it would be, to see them half-dead and covered in blood like the horrible, heartless worms they were. After his talk with Phobos just... he realised that, after all that, he didn't hate the people of Meridian. He just wanted to be one of them. To be accepted by them.

The heat died down a bit as the afternoon passed on into evening and the sun began to set. The storm of Phobos' temper had subsided as he wandered the corridors of the southern-most wing of the fortress. This was his part of the castle; his parents had given it to him as a two-hundreth birthday present, and he had decorated it aesthetically, taking the largest room as his bedchamber and finding good uses for the other rooms. The views from this side of the castle were amazing. Meridian could be seen directly below, with the swamp beyond and grey-blue mountains in the distance. The sunsets cast beautifully coloured shadows over the landscape, and Phobos often found himself gazing out at them. It calmed him and took his mind off his current predicament.

Well, it used to. Yet another stroke of bad luck had come his way. His doting and loving mother, her belly slightly swollen with his sister-to-be already, had bumped into him while he stalked the hallways and asked him if he wouldn't mind relocating his bedroom to the south tower, giving up this small haven for the new baby. Though his lips pressed together in a tight line, Phobos had acquiesed, and had asked Cedric to help pack away his belongings for the move.

"I don't understand, Master. Why can't the baby have the tower room?" Cedric asked, carefully gathering up the bedsheets and folding them.

"Because mother wishes for her to grow up surrounded by beauty so that she makes a beautiful queen." Phobos answered blanky. He ran a hand through some of his long platinum hair and then sighed in defeat. "Damn it all! For five hundred years, I've worked so hard to be a suitable king for Metamoor, and now this little bratling comes along and I have to give up everything to her. My room, my status... Ugh. I shall have to serve her. What a disgusting thought."

"I won't serve her. I'll just serve you, Master." The child replied quietly, putting the neatly folded sheets into a pile. "I'll _always_ serve you. I promise."

If Phobos heard him, he did not acknowledge it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Origin**

**Chapter 3 - Taming the Beast**

Months passed without event. The blazing summer gave way to the chill of winter, and Metamoor celebrated. They celebrated the midwinter festival, and they celebrated for the birth of their new princess, for the queen was now deep into her seventh month of pregnancy, and there was not long to go. A blanket of deep, crisp white snow covered the ground everywhere, and carefree adults joined playful children in making snowpeople and engaging in snow fights.

In the castle grounds, most of the snow was undisturbed; the king and queen were making their preparations for the new arrival to family, and Phobos had long considered himself too old to frolic about in the winter weather like a toddler. So the coating of white was as immaculate as it had been when it fell, but for the scattered spots of red in the southern courtyard.

Phobos gingerly brushed a fingertip against the long, but thankfully shallow, wound that ran over his forehead and onto his left cheek. Ah, ow. He stared at the snake-boy who was huddled up in a tight ball, cowering, his right claws stained with the prince's blood.

"Right." The thaumaturge grimaced. He was no healer, and he couldn't stop the bleeding. The way that the red poured over his eye and down his cheek almost made it look like tears. "I think that we should work on getting your shifting under control now." The cold steel eyes watched as Cedric morphed from his scaly self back into a human. The young boy seemed terrified - he hadn't meant to attack his master! All of a sudden, while he was walking with Phobos in the snow, he had been spooked by on of the kings hunting hounds, and had shifted into the naga. Then he had lashed out at the first thing he saw - which had happened to be the platinum haired prince.

"I... For-forgive me..." He stuttered out, shaking a little. Wasn't attacking a prince an act of treason? Treason was punishable by death...

"Stop whining." Phobos commanded. He was wearing long robes of light blue, trimmed with beige feathers to fend off the cold, while Cedric had dressed in warm purple. "You're of no use to me if you cannot control your true form. I imagine that you would be quite a formidable weapon if you could control yourself. With the snake's natural armour and those claws of yours," Phobos licked the blood from his fingers, illustrating his point, "You could serve me very well indeed."

Cedric knelt before his master, awaiting an order in silence.

"So, it seems to me," the prince continued, "that you only transform when scared. In that case, if I want you shapeshift, then think of something that scares you. If you fail me this time..."

"Ah..." The young blonde boy shuddered.

"Transform for me, then, boy."

Cedric closed his eyes tightly. Something that scared him? Oh.. that was easy. He recalled to mind the bullying citizens of Meridian, who had ostracised and tormented him since he had ventured from his homeland in the mire to find a better life in the city. The child envisioned them coming towards him, with their rocks and their sticks, their harsh words, and he felt his form morhping to his defensive naga form.

Phobos watched with interest as the golden-haired shapeshifter transformed for him. It seemed that, as he had expected, he had been right about the link between Cedric's changing and his state of fear. Vaguely, somewhere in the back of his mind, the pale sorcerer wondered if turning from form to form was painful for his servant. From the amount of writhing, and the cries that sometimes came during the shifting, he supposed it must be. It showed something about the sincerity of the boy's promise to serve and his wish to be useful, that he would willingly go through pain for his master.

The naga stared at his hands - no, they were claws now, weren't they? This was... brilliant! He had managed to control a transformation, just like Phobos had said he would! The prince surely was a miracle worker... no, more than that. Phobos must be an angel, sent from heaven to guide Cedric to a better life. With these thoughts in his mind, the boy made the transition back into his human form.

"Hmm." Phobos allowed himself to give Cedric a small smile. "So work on that for me. I need you to be able to do that immediately before you can fulfill your purpose to me."

"Yes.. Yes, master, I will..."

"Mm, and don't let anybody in the castle but me know of your power. With people from Meridian knowing, it's hardly a secret, but there's no point in bringing yourself more persecution." The warlock wiped the blood away from under his grey-green eye, turning away from Cedric and walking, his step so light that he could almost have been gliding, over to one of his black rose bushes. Carefully, with one hand, he wiped away part of the snow covering. Underneath, his whispering nymphs shivered in their protective petal cocoons. "It's quite the paradox." He seemed almost to be speaking to himself now. "Winter is easily the most beautiful season... but it is merciless and cruel and kills everything in its wake. They say that my sister will be the most beautiful. I wonder if she will be the most deadly?"

"... Um, y'don' really want a sister, do you, Master?" Cedric queried, a tad nervously.

"Oh, could you tell?" The platinum-haired noble snarled. "It's ridiculous. For five hundred years I have furthered and bettered myself so that I would be a fitting king to follow in my mother's footsteps, and now _this?_ As soon as this... this little _witch_ is born, she will have as much power and maybe more than I have worked so hard to accumulate, just because she's female! Metamoor is a paradise, but we still use the feudal system, which dictates that females will always have the priority to the throne, even if they aren't firstborn. You know," he snorted derisively, "my parents were probably disappointed that I was born male."

The prince was positively fuming. Cedric quivered where he stood; the temperature of the air about the two of them seemed to have dropped by a degree or two. With a bow, the boy backed away. Though at a young and vulnerable age, he knew better than to stay and risk his liege's temper.

Phobos was left on his own, staring at the snow-covered rose bush. A croak disturbed the still air as one of the frozen Whisperes attempted to speak.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author Note: **My goodness, I've had some trouble with figuring out the timing for later chapters. Luckily enough for me, I happened to reread _The Last Tear_, number 5 in the comic series. In it, four hundred years have passed since Elias was trapped in the painting, but Phobos Aye, that immortal and Cedric haven't aged. Thus I conclude that time on Earth is different from time on Metamoor. That's the rule I'll be going by, cause it's the only way I can get this to work right .

**Quick Thanks** go to _KnightofFaerun_, who has reviewed _every single chapter_. Loves. This story would probably die if not for people who review.

**Origin**

** Chapter 4 - Father and Mother**

As winter progressed, Metamoor witnessed quite violent blizzards in and near the city of Meridian and the castle. Most ordinary Metamoorians feared the winter and regarded it as a living hell, but for Phobos it was the preferable season. The snow was thick on the ground still, and now icicles hung down over the windows and the eerie whistling of the wind through the gaps in the glass was spookily pleasing.

Today, the prince was amusing himself by redecorating the south corridor up to the tower. If it was to be his new chambers, he would have it how _he_ wanted it. Dressed in a tunic of dark green, thick woollen black leggings and leather boots to fend away the cold of the draughty stone hallway, Phobos stared disapprovingly at an old tapestry. He was about to tear it down when a shout of his name interrupted him:

"Phobos! There you are. I've been looking for you, m'boy."

Looking up, the prince saw his father striding purposefully towards him. The king (or royal consort, as was his official title) had long, dusty-beige hair, and stood at half a foot taller than Phobos. He shared very many facial features with the prince and, though he was not bulky, as a swordsman he had muscle definitions that the sorcerer did not, which made him an imposing figure. Phobos felt an looming feeling of apprehension as he saw his father bear down on him; the man was _extremely_ military-minded, and hardly ever spoke to his son unless there was a goal to be achieved.

Sure enough, as the prince expected, the king laid a hand on his shoulder and spoke in a curt and purposeful manner that left no room for arguments.

"Come make yourself useful. There was a landslide in the Hugong Gorge bottleneck that leads through to the Thousand Mesa Canyon. The blizzard yesterday was fiercest there. One of the needles collapsed and its top managed to fall straight between the two cliffs. It's wedged in, and no one can get through. You need to sort it out, eh?"

"Very well." With a shrug, the prince agreed. He knew better than to argue with his father. The man was as stubborn as he was skilled with a sword. "It's not within walking distance, though. The horses are ready, I assume?" Of course they were. Phobos knew that without even asking; his father would have made preparations to leave before even asking Phobos if he would help.

"In the courtyard. Come."

The departing thaumaturge spared the vile tapestry one last glare. Its existence had been prolonged by this setback, but it would _not _escape his wrath. Now, though, was not the time to dwell on such things; better to reserve his concentration for clearing the pass, just in case the fallen boulder was large.

True to his word, Phobos' father had already ordered the groom to brush up his and his son's horses. The swordsman swung himself easily up onto the back of a large bay charger, which was beautifully trained from a colt and obedient to his every whim, leaving his platinum-haired offspring to battle his way up onto a bad-tempered palomino mare, which had caused trouble and had been noted for its tenacity and penchant to buck riders to the ground since its foalhood. Needless to say, Phobos hated the beast and wished it dead with all his heart, but, despairing at what he saw as an effeminate boy, the king kept it as Phobos' steed, hoping the challenge would 'make a man' out of the mage.

Luckily, through vigorous hard work, Phobos had managed to persuade the mount that he was to be obeyed - a quick jolt of magical energy whenever a hoof was put out of line had been a powerful teacher - and, thus, the ride to the gorge was not as arduous as it could have been.

This was a very good thing.

Phobos understood why when he saw what he had been called out to remove. He had steeled himself and preserved his mental energy in case the needle that had fallen was a large one. He had been wrong about it being large; it was gargantuan. The boulder was tightly wedged between the two towering cliffs, and almost rose to the full height of them. Stepping up to it, the prince saw marks where hooks had been attached, as the army put rhinoceros mounts to work trying to drag it away. The grim picture was completed by the morbid sight of several bloodied hugong feathers poking out from beneath the huge rock.

"Good citizens of Metamoor, please move to higher ground as soon as possible." The sorcerer commanded, after assessing the situation. He himself took three or four paces backwards, coming to stand at what he hoped was a safe distance.

He then stood very still. The time seemed to draw itself out, seconds turning into minutes seamlessly. Still, Phobos stood there, eyes closed and muttering to himself. Had not the people seen this routine of meditation many times before, it would be all to easy to swear that the man had lost his mind. A small wind picked up about Phobos' feet, flicking his long pale braids about playfully, and the very air about him seemed to glow light blue with power. All of a sudden, his steel-green eyes snapped open and he brought his hands together powerfully, one fisted and the other clutching it.

What had started off as a breeze turned almost into a cyclone localised about the lone figure in the gorge. Dirt from the floor blew into his face, and his long hair whipped about him, stinging his skin, but the prince refused to let his concentration waver. With an expression of determination, he tensed and focussed on the boulder with all his mind.

It wasn't breaking… but he wouldn't let it beat him. He would not be made a fool of; not in front of all these plebs, nor his own father. _Crumble_, he told the giant stone silently, _crumble to dust!_

"Augh!" With an exclamation, Phobos forced his hands together even tighter. The boulder cracked in the middle. Blinding beams of aquamarine light shot from his body, striking the blockage. Eventually, with an ear-shattering roar, it began to crumble. Clouds of dust swept the gorge, powered forwards by the immense bulk of the disintegrating mesa, engulfing everything. Still with his hands pressed together, and an expression of wild triumph on his face, Phobos was swallowed by the sandstorm.

At last, the pass was clear again, and the khamsin died down. Overtaken by dizziness at the sudden draining of his power, the prince slid to his knees in exhaustion, aware that the cheering Metamoorians were approaching behind him. He chanced a look down at himself.

Previously, he had been wearing green and black, but his clothes had now turned into ugly shades of brown, thanks to the onslaught of dirt that had come from the crumbling boulder. Blankly, he stared at the cleared pass. He'd done it…

"Well done!" The royal consort's authoritative voice rang out over the rest of the hubbub. "Good job, Phobos!"

Phobos felt himself pulled to his feet and looked up into his father's proud blue eyes. A smile lingered on the older man's face.

"Go on home, my boy. Get yourself cleaned up. Take my horse, if you want. We can manage clearing up here."

Gratefully, the prince heaved himself onto the bay horse, urging it to a gentle trot back to the castle, absorbed in weary contemplation. It was a long, but thankfully calming and uneventful ride, and Phobos took the horse to its stable before heading inside.

Cedric was out in the main courtyard, practising his punches on one of the old army target dummies. He seemed overdressed for his active exercise, dressed in thick winter clothes and a woollen scarf. The fact was that he was cold-blooded, and did not cope well in low temperatures, which caused him to become sluggish and disoriented.

The youth's purple eyes landed on the forlorn and tired figure of his master, who was moving with soft tread towards the main door of the palace. His liege was covered in dirt, from head to toe, and he was dishevelled. Curiously, in that innocent way of children, Cedric followed the older man, wondering what had happened.

Phobos made his way down several flights of stairs, not noticing the young boy following him, through a winding maze of stone corridors in the very bowels of the castle to a part that Cedric had never seen before. A pleasant smell filled the air, and steam condensed on the cold rocks, dampening them. The prince stepped into a room off the hallway, and his servant followed him quietly.

They were in a large but cosy room with what seemed to be a heated volcanic spring in the middle. The spring had been enclosed to turn it into a large bathing area, and it was to here that Phobos warily went. After removing his boots, he stepped in to the steaming water fully clothed, with a sigh of satisfaction as it soothed his aching limbs. Pools of dirt circled him as most of the dust washed away from his clothes, but, thanks to the draining system that had been set up, the muddy water did not long stay in the bath.

The prince began to unfasten his tunic, and was in the process of slipping it over his head when he heard a small embarrassed squeak and turned around to see a wide-eyed Cedric trying to hide his red face behind his hands.

Time seemed to stand still as the two of them were frozen, just staring at each other, Phobos with his top halfway off and Cedric with parts of his bright red face poking through the gaps between his fingers. Then, as Phobos sat down in the pool, the ridiculousness of the situation struck him and he dissolved into helpless giggles. His young protégé blinked in surprise, having not heard the prince laugh quite so freely before.

"Ah…" Phobos shook his head in amusement, brushing stray locks of hair from his face, "Cedric. What a surprise to, ahem, see _you _down here."

"O-oh!" The boy bowed. "I followed you, my prince." Aware that his statement sounded a little suspect at best and, at worst, just plain creepy, the shapeshifter added: "Um. That is. You looked a bit upset, so I thought… _I'msorryI'msorry_."

Sitting against the stone, Phobos let his head fall back, relishing the contrast of the hot water on his body and the cool rock on the back of his neck. The springs were rejuvenating his energy, and his mood was complacent.

"I merely returned from a small yet rather taxing duty in the Hugong Gorge, Cedric, nothing more drastic than that."

"May I enquire - " Cedric began, but was cut off as Phobos continued.

"One of those damn needles from Thousand Mesa Canyon collapsed in the snowstorm yesterday and blocked the bottleneck pass. I merely cleared it away."

The young blonde stared at his master in silent adoration for a moment before bowing and leaving the bathing chamber, feeling that Phobos should be in peace. Surely, he thought, as he navigated his way back through the winding passageways to the main castle, the prince must be an angel from heaven, come to save all Metamoorians from strife? He had given Cedric himself a better life, and now he was helping with larger troubles that could affect trade? How powerful this sorcerer was, how noble and good-hearted…

-

Time passed, and the sun began to set. Dinner was served for the royal family, with Queen Weira at the head of the table, and her consort and her son either side of her. The queen's hair was the same vibrant gold as Cedric's, and it was easy to see from where Phobos inherited his good looks. The most striking thing, of course, was the size of her belly, as she was nearing the end of her pregnancy. The new heir was due any day. Usually, Phobos, being of rather solitary and aloof tendencies, would dine alone, but today, for the very reason of her impending birth-giving, his mother had insisted he dine with the family. He had dressed for the occasion, in his light blue robes. Cedric had been requested as an extra waiting hand, as one of the usual footmen was off sick, and was carefully serving the meals and pouring drinks, wearing a smart deep green uniform.

"What do you think, Phobos?" Asked Weira, gazing fondly down at her swollen abdomen. "Do you like the name Raüolé for your sister? I want to choose a name that will be fitting for a great monarch, for she will be a great monarch…"

With a shrug, the firstborn son picked absently at his food, not really eating. The queen flashed a look of questioning concern in his direction, but he brushed it away, ignoring it and even inclining his head slightly so that he was not looking at his mother.

"I think it will suit her wonderfully, dear." The king said, with a smile. "Perhaps after she is born, I'll convince you to take up the sword, eh, Phobos? After all, your magic will be nothing compared to hers - you may as well learn something useful."

"Hush, don't tease him!" Retorted Weira good-naturedly. "Don't force him in to taking up something brutal like sword fighting. Maybe he would rather have a nice hobby, like botany? You know how much he likes his roses."

Suddenly, Phobos stood up with such force that he knocked his chair over. His parents both looked at him in alarm, but he growled outa a reason through clenched teeth:

"Upset stomach."

Then he swept out of the dining hall, stalking irately down the corridors to his chambers. The nerve! The nerve of his parents, speaking about him as though he wasn't even there! Their minds were distracted by this… this little _harridan_ of a daughter that was expected. Phobos found himself hoping that the child would be stillborn, before chastising himself for such a thought; it would break his poor mother's heart for such a thing to happen.

"Master! Master, are you all right?" A familiar young voice cut through his hostile thoughts, and he stopped to see Cedric hurrying after him. "My - my prince, you left so suddenly, um…"

"I couldn't stand it. They talk about my powers as though they are some secondary thing, something passive that I have _not _spent the last five hundred years perfecting! They tell me that I should learn _sword fighting_ or _botany_… the cheek! I know they are so eager to have their new daughter, but what about their son? It's as though they've forgotten that they even _have_ a damn son!" The pale-haired mage sighed heavily. "Ughhh… I've had enough of this. I've even started hoping that the child dies at birth. What a monstrous thing to think."

The prince glanced down at his little naga-boy, who had flinched at the word 'monstrous'. "I think it's time I showed you something, Cedric."

Cedric followed his prince eagerly into the connecting hallway between the throne room and the room of the Court of Lords, where most criminal trials were held. A series of portraits hung on the walls, all of them depicting hideous, ugly and deformed beasts, some with huge fangs, some with sharp claws, others with evil, beady little eyes.

"Do you find me beautiful, Cedric?" Was Phobos' next question. It seemed quite a vain thing to ask, and Cedric was not sure whether he should answer 'yes', and risk being accused of sycophancy, or 'no', and risk being accused of lack of respect. Thankfully, he was saved from giving a response when Phobos carried on speaking. "It doesn't matter if you do or don't. Look at these people. They are my family. My blood relatives. See, how savage they are? _You_ are not a monster here. In truth, the royal family of Metamoor is made up of monsters too, so you are at home here."

The boy looked up at the paintings, and then at Phobos, and then again at the paintings. There really was no resemblance, but he trusted the prince's words and nodded his head shyly. He was about to thank his liege for the kind words, but was distracted by the sound of footsteps, which grew louder and louder.

A servant came sprinting down the corridor, ashen-faced and panicked, obviously at a loss at what to do. Phobos' expression darkened as he waited for an explanation from the messenger, who had to swallow once or twice before speaking:

"My lord Prince! It's your lady mother, Sire, sh-she, it, the - the baby's coming, Sire! It's coming right _now_, Sire!"

**Good grief! **This chapter is almost 3000 words in length, which is almost a record for me, I believe. Not only that, but thanks for all the support I'm getting.

**IMPORTANT NOTE** In retrospect, I suppose Phobos may seem a little OOC. That's because it's a backstory, and he has not yet started being a bastard. The same with little Cedric there. They are not yet bastards, so they aren't yet OOC. Obviously.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author Note: **Sorry about the delay. I've been inactive because of illness. I'm doing my best to get this up for Valentine's Day, but I may miss it by a little. Not my fault.

**About the Chapter:** Ahh…. Chapter 5. I think this is probably the one which will make or break the story. Without wanting to give too much away, it was the most challenging one yet to write. Rather a lot happens. smirks in her knowledge You'll probably get it after reading the chapter.

**To Worker72** - is it a bad thing that I had to look up Snidley Whiplash on the omniscient Wikipedia so I could find out who the heck he is? ;;

---

**Origin **

**Chapter 5 - The New Beginnings**

It was safe to say that the hours of night and early morning since hearing of his mother's going into labour were easily the most trying and strained of Phobos' long life. Nobody close to him had ever had a child in his living memory; of course, members of the extended family had continued to spawn out distant cousins, but he didn't _care_ about them. This was on an entirely different scale.

Still, compared to the royal consort, the prince seemed to be coping rather well. He was sat quite still, albeit rather tense, on a bench outside the room his mother was currently in with her nurses and the midwife, while his father paced impatiently up and down the corridor.

"Why do you let him do that, Phobos?" The king growled, turning his anxiety onto a prone Cedric, who had fallen asleep sprawled over his prince's lap after the mix of excitement and the late night had tired him.

"He's tired. He's allowed to sleep if he's tired." Phobos answered coldly. His father had been complaining about Cedric since the little servant fell asleep. If it wasn't the boy's appearance, then it was his scrawny figure or how lenient Phobos was to him.

"It isn't _proper_, my boy. Princes aren't to let their servants sleep on them. It's just not _done_."

"Shut your face, old man," the platinum blonde muttered to himself, as rebellious as any teenager, "If I want my servants to sleep on me, they'll damn well sleep on me."

"What was that!?" The father demanded of his son.

"Ugh! I didn't say anything!" Phobos expostulated angrily, rolling his eyes, but at least looking suitably chastened when one of the nurses poked her head out of the closed door and irritably put her finger over her lips, gesturing for quiet.

Both men glared at each other for a moment and then the father conceded and shrugged. "Fine, he's your boy, you do what you want with him."

Phobos shrugged and glanced down at the sleeping blonde. It was a little strange; in his studies, Phobos had often read that shapeshifters matured into adults much quicker than other species found in Metamoor, and then lived many long years before aging further. The mage had never believed such a theory, but now it was playing itself out in front of him. Cedric had aged at least two years in the seven or eight months he had been with the royal family. His snake-like voice was beginning to break (which caused the prince much amusement, despite his attempts to remain stoic after remembering when it had happened to _him_).

"Ah." The king stopped pacing when he saw a smiling midwife open the door to his wife's room and beckon the waiting males in. "All good news?" He asked anxiously.

"Yes," The nurse replied warmly. "It's a healthy baby girl - and the Queen is fine. You can come in and see her now."

Phobos' father disappeared into the room, leaving the thaumaturge outside. The nurse looked at him questioningly, but his only response was to shrug. His mother was ok - that was good - but he had no wish to see his new sister, and the sound of the baby crying that came through the doorway told him that if he ventured in the room, he would only have to listen to insufferable cooing over the newborn. So instead of going to see his mother after her labour, he rose, disturbing Cedric and causing the boy to wake, and disappeared lightly down the corridor. Once he had understood what was going on, the little shapeshifter ran after his prince.

With a sad sigh, the midwife withdrew into the room where the queen and her consort were now reunited and with a baby daughter.

"Isn't she gorgeous?" Weira was saying, cradling a tiny figure in her arms. The newborn had been crying loudly, but was now silent and sleeping, her tiny hands clenched in fists. "My little princess."

"She'll become a radiant queen, my love. Just like you." The royal consort smiled at his new daughter, resting his hand on the shoulder of his wife, who looked up expectantly for Phobos. Her face fell when she saw that he wasn't present.

"Is Phobos not coming in to see his sister?" She asked, already knowing the answer.

"He waited outside with me," the king said with a sigh, "but when he heard that you were all right, he left. Perhaps I should have a word with him later on about it."

"No. I don't think that would help. Leave it to me, I'll speak with him. Poor thing," Weira shook her head. "Having a new sister born after half a millennium being an only child is bound to be taxing on him. He'll just have to learn that he isn't the most important thing anymore."

"Even so - " The royal consort began to speak but was cut off by his queen's repetition of

"I'll speak with him later."

-

The later that the queen had in mind was a week later, when she had regained enough energy to be allowed out of bed to walk in the grounds.

Winter was now long over, and the trees were once again growing their leaves. The heavy blankets of snow that had covered the ground and killed most of the mosses and lichens were in the process of thawing, and the weather had taken a turn for the rainy as Mother Earth strived to repopulate her barren soil.

It on one of these dreary, rainy afternoons that Phobos was in the gardens, tending to his whispering roses. This time of year was crucial for their development; dead buds had to be cut away so that the living buds could grow into healthy blooms. Phobos liked tending to his Whisperers. They spoke to him while he worked, and he felt as though they were the only beings left that truly understood him. He trusted their loyalty to him, and they never disappointed.

The prince had tied his long hair back from his face, but, with the weather, he needn't really have bothered; the rain had wet his clothes and his hair through, and the platinum tresses now stuck together, holding themselves in place.

"The queen…! The queen…" The rose nymphs whispered, disappearing back into their petal hideaways and warning Phobos that his mother was approaching. The soft footfalls upon the grass told him when she was behind him.

"Afternoon." He said briskly, cutting a dead shoot from its stem with his pruning knife. Feeling his mother watching him, he stopped what he was doing and turned to look at her. She was a little pale still, wearing warm woollen robes and clutching a silver crown so beautifully iridescent that it almost seemed to glow in the rain.

"Afternoon, Phobos. Are you feeling better?" She asked him kindly. "I was worried when you didn't come to see me…"

"…Yeah, I'm fine." He shrugged, looking away. Weira's kind acceptance of his ignoring her while she was recovering was making him feel a little guilty. He _had_ acted like a petulant child, but he didn't think he could bear seeing the child that was ruining his life.

"Your father and I had a talk about it, darling, and we're sorry that the baby has taken precedence over your for the last few months." The wise blonde woman carried on. Phobos seemed to perk up a little, though the movement was almost too small to be noticeable. "So… here you are, darling, try this on."

She held the brilliant silver circlet out towards the sorcerer, who looked at it suspiciously.

"What is it?" He asked, taking it in his hand and placing it upon his head. It fit wonderfully around his temple and forehead, seeming almost to adjust itself to be perfectly comfortable. It was beautiful, but wearing it gave the prince a strange sensation. Almost as though it was sucking his soul…

"What the _hell_ is it!?" He demanded, tearing it from his head and hurling it towards his mother, who merely smiled sadly.

"It's the new queen's crown, Phobos. I'm so sorry, but it's written that if there's a firstborn son which magical prowess, he should give his magic to the future queen so that none will be able to best her. It's your duty, love."

Phobos couldn't believe what he was hearing. His mother wanted him to give up the power he had spent centuries perfecting so that his baby sister would be a better ruler than him?

"That's ridiculous!" He snarled, enchanted flames leaping from his limbs and encircling his body in his anger. "How - How _dare_ you try to take my arcane away!? If _she's_ so wonderful, _she_ can get her own power instead of taking everything from me! _What about me? I'm your damned **son**!_"

Weira sighed sadly. Phobos was taking this much worse than she had thought he would. It was to be expected, of course; he had tirelessly worked to become the best with the arcane energies he had the potential to command, but it was his destiny to give that power up to his new sister. Hoping she could calm her son, Weira laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Phobos…"

"_Don't touch me!_" The prince almost howled. One of the fireballs circling his body launched itself out at the queen, powered with magical energy. It would usually have been enough to break through her mana shield and sting a little, just to warn her off, but with her concentration weakened still by the birth-giving, she was unable to sustain the invisible screen.

The fireball passed straight through the queen just as Phobos realised his miscalculation with a startled cry. Time seemed to freeze as the prince tried to stop what had already happened, and as the limp woman fell slowly to the ground.

Phobos stared at his mother's body in utter shock. He didn't need to check her pulse to know that she was gone; the paleness of her skin told him there was little hope. He stood there; shaking his head, as though that would deny the irrefutable truth that he had just committed matricide.

It was an accident, he chanted as a silent mantra in his mind, It was an accident, it was an accident, it wasn't my fault, _it was an accident_.

"M-Murderer! _Murderer!_" The cry startled Phobos into looking round wildly. He saw the gardener - of course, it made sense that he should be outside - backing away from the terrible scene. The ashen-faced servant would no doubt raise the alarm, and the prince would be imprisoned…

A sickeningly familiar reptilian figure was rising behind the unfortunate serf, bearing claws that Phobos knew were sharp through experience. Once again, the prince realised too late what was about to happen.

"Cedric, stand down!" He commanded, powerless to stop his shapeshifter. "_Cedric!_"

Blood spattered over the naga as his fist passed straight through the gardener's chest, gouging the man's heart out and clutching it like a trophy. The stricken servant fell to the sodden grass, quite dead.

"I told you to stand down!" Phobos growled out at the snake, who looked very uncomfortable and hissed out:

"Dead men tell no tales. I… I was protecting you, Sire. I won't let them lock you away."

Phobos appeared not to hear Cedric's response, kneeling by his mother and clutching her lifeless form to him protectively. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry, so sorry… It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault. If my sister hadn't tried to steal what was mine… It's _her _fault…"

Cedric watched his master's sadness and denial, tasting the air with his forked tongue. "Sire, there are people coming… many people."

The prince did not seem to hear. He was silent and dry-eyed, but wracked with an unspoken grief as he clutched his mother closer, as though the warmth from his body would bring her back.

"Look there! That beast has killed the queen!" The shout made Cedric look towards the castle door. A squadron of soldiers, no doubt alerted by the gardener's last cries, had come to investigate. The young shapeshifter quivered in fear as he saw numerous crossbows being pointed at him. Was this it? Well, his death would be useful at least; Phobos' name would be cleared. The prince would continue to live free.

The platinum-haired prince rose to his feet blankly. He held a hand to the air, and the bolts on the crossbows, and those which had just been loosed, fell to the floor instantly. He coldly addressed the soldier who looked as though he was in charge of the platoon; a young-ish brown skinned humanoid.

"What are you doing? Are you blind, or merely stupid? What is your name, soldier?"

"Oh! M-my prince, I - I didn't realise you were conscious sir… My name is Raythor, sir, second lieutenant."

"Consider yourself demoted then, Raythor." Phobos' face betrayed no expression. "This shapeshifter was not the killer of my mother. He merely acted in her defence by delivering swift retribution unto the guilty one." Here the mage gestured the unfortunate gardener.

There was a moment's pause as the prince allowed the soldiers to digest this information. Then Raythor bowed and ordered his squadron to return to their posts.

"You and you," Phobos picked out two of them. "Remove this filth," pointing to the dead servant, "from my sight. You, go and inform my father of what has happened here. You two, take my mother to her room."

Once the soldiers had done as they were bidden, Cedric morphed back into his human form and went straight to Phobos, burying his head in the thaumaturge's clothes.

The pale-haired warlock was silently astounded that a boy so young could have taken a life so easily. It must have been something in the naga blood that coursed within the blonde's body. No wonder the townspeople of Meridian had called him a monster and tried to kill him. Already he could take lives; had he taken any before?

"… Cedric, are you crying?" Phobos asked suspiciously. After a moment, the little servant withdrew his face from the sodden cloth and shook his head mutely.

With the rain washing over him, it was impossible to tell if he was lying.

---

**Woah Nelly**. Not sure if I'm satisfied with the way this chapter came out. There may be some rewriting involved at some point.

You notice what a clever thing it was for me to call it New Beginnings? Huh, huh, do you? xD


	6. Chapter 6

**Author Note: **Wow. The feedback so far for the last chapter was encouraging. I guess you always judge your own work too harshly. About the delay in getting this chapter up? Ahahaha. Internet trouble. Damn Tiscali.

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**Origin **

**Chapter 6 - The Drums of War**

As was to be expected, Phobos was numbed for several weeks following the death of his mother. He was no longer quite as free in his wandering about Metamoor, and there was a steely cold glint in his pale eyes that had not previously been there. At first, he had abjectly denied that he had murdered the queen, even shedding a few tears at the thought that she was no longer of this world, but when the time came for her cremation, he had hardened his heart. Not a tear threatened his eyes or moistened his cheeks during the service.

The castle was in utter disarray. As was to be expected, there was a dispute about who the new reigning monarch should be; Phobos was of the opinion, of course, that he as the Crown Prince should take the throne, whereas his father told him that the baby girl was rightful heir now.

"That's ridiculous," Phobos had protested, to his obstinate father, "She's barely two months old! How can she rule a kingdom?"

"Her coronation will be at the same time as her naming ceremony. She will be queen, but you and I shall govern Metamoor until she is old enough to accept responsibility." The swordsman's response had always been along those lines. To Phobos, it made no sense; if he and the king were to rule Metamoor anyway, why not stay on as rulers? To him, this was just another archaic and outdated law of the kingdom, exactly the same as the edict that he had to give up his powers to his new sister.

To add another complication, scouts were bringing news of rising dissent. There had been a heavy tension in the air among the regional Lords in Metamoor since the queen's death, and it had escalated almost to the point of plunging the peaceful realm into civil war. Already in the far east, it was said, influential landowners were gathering followers to form militia and were marching against outposts which royal soldiers could not stretch to defend.

The most recent update received by the castle had come from a resourceful young blue-skinned warrior named Vathek. His information was urgent enough for him to call a council of the king, Phobos and the commander of the army. The servant Cedric had been ordered by the prince to serve drinks to the gathering.

"An army marches against us, my lords." He grumbled, bowing his head over a map, jabbing a stout finger at a point towards the bottom, near the Hugong nesting grounds. "They come from the south… I believe they are fourteen thousand strong. They seem to be well supplied, and they have an impressive cavalry."

"Who leads them?" The king asked, frowning perplexedly.

"… I believe it is Lord Silas, my king."

"Silas?" The response came from Phobos, who gripped his temples, growling in his frustration. "Damn. Silas is a Mesmer, isn't he? I _hate _Illusionists. They're so… _tricky_. It isn't real magic, writing spells on bits of paper and throwing them around."

"What's their formation, Vathek?" The army commander requested. The blue-skinned scout shrugged a little.

"I'm not entirely sure, sir, though I think they approach in a pincer that splits their army in two towards the east and the west."

"If they are in a pincer, we can hardly meet them in the open." The royal consort sighed. "They have the clear advantage. We meet them in the pass between the Hugong Gorge and the Thousand Mesa Canyon. They can only march through a few at a time, which would give us a chance to slaughter them."

"That wouldn't work, sire." The Commander shook his head. "They can travel around the top of the cliffs either side of the gorge. Our army can stretch to ten thousand at most, perhaps twelve thousand if we press Meridian citizens and swamp beasts into fighting for us. We have not the numbers to block the clifftops as well as the gorge. We have no choice but to meet them in the open. We could try to outmanoeuvre them by sending our troops in a _wider_ pincer."

"…I-If I may," A nervous voice spoke softly, and the four men turned to see Cedric gazing at the map, "I think it's possible to meet them in the open without extending our forces too far…"

"Quiet down, boy, this is no matter for children." The Commander snarled, turning his back, but he quailed at a glare from Phobos, who nodded for his blonde servant to continue speaking.

"Well, um, it might be tight if we're outnumbered anyway, but if you have almost half the army as cavalry, then a quarter of the infantry as archers and hold strict ranks that strengthen the flanks where the pincer will strike, we can turn being trapped in the middle back on them. Have the archers stay in the middle, let the cavalry lead the charges and the infantry come as back up maybe."

"You know, that might actually work," The king was staring at Cedric with a new respect. "What cavalry beasts have we, Vathek?"

"Um.. Hugongs only, my king."

"Raptors." Phobos spoke suddenly. "We have raptors. Have a proportion of the cavalry wear full armour, ride raptors and act as the heavy hitters, then they can be backed up by the lighter hugong riders. Give swords to the raptor cavalry and the spears to the hugongs."

"Would it not make more sense to give spears to the raptor riders too, assuming we can even find somebody good enough to train those beasts?" The Commander of the army asked uncertainly.

"No, the swords are heavier than the spears because of the bulk of metal. They will be potentially more damaging, but only the raptors will be able to bear the weight. As for a trainer," The prince shrugged nonchalantly, "Rakarth the Beast Tamer. He keeps several hundred raptors. Breeds them, or so I hear."

The king looked unhappy at the prospect of using raptors as mounts for his cavalry. Raptors were vicious lizard-like beasts, much resembling smaller and more agile versions of the long-extinct beast _Tyrannosaurus Rex_, which had once dwelled on the parallel plane of Earth, and it was rare to find a Beast Tamer apt enough to keep them under control. However, Rakarth was good at what he did, so perhaps there was no need to worry about the creatures.

As for Phobos, he was thinking about Cedric's use as a tactician. Perhaps it was the snake in the boy that made him so good at planning ahead like this; he was the one, also, who had had the presence of mind to kill the only witness who could testify that Phobos had murdered his mother. It seemed that picking the boy off the street had been a good idea after all.

"Vathek, when will Silas' army reach the nesting grounds?" The army commander asked of his soldier.

"I believe they will take three days, sir." Was the prompt response. This caused the king to sigh.

"Then we have no time!" Another resigned sigh. "If we should lose this battle, I want a runner to be sent to Meridian to tell them to evacuate and make sure they get my daughter safely into hiding so that she can take her throne back when she is grown. Now… Dismiss, commander."

"Sire." Both soldiers saluted and left in the small conference room an anxious warrior-king, an apathetic sorcerer and a young shapeshifter who seemed oddly keen for the coming of war.

"Do you want me to lead the charge, master?" The blonde-haired boy spoke quietly to Phobos, though his voice was loud enough to be overheard by the king, who snorted in amusement.

"You? What could_ you_ do? A battleground is no place for a child."

Phobos ignored his father's snide remark, inclining his head a little towards Cedric. "Hmm, I think I should prefer it if you would back me up. Keep people off me so I can keep my concentration up. That would be a lot more useful than making yourself the centre of attention."

"Come now, Phobos," The older man was no longer smiling, "It is hardly fair to ask a boy to be your bodyguard! Let him stay safe in the castle. Don't you waste his young life!"

"He's more than capable of defending himself." The prince protested blankly, waving a hand at Cedric, who tilted his head to one side and then morphed into his naga form. With a shocked exclamation, the king started backwards at seeing the towering beast - though not yet fully grown, Cedric stood at about eight feet from the ground, with at least six feet of muscled reptilian tail trailing along the ground. Green sparks of energy surround the shapeshifter as he changed back into his human form and turned his back on the king.

"You've been letting that… that _beast _serve you?" Said swordsman expostulated almost indignantly, not noticing Cedric's tiny flinch. "In your mother's castle?"

Phobos rose to his feet threateningly. Although he was shorter than his father, he still made his presence felt in a way that only mages could really manage; by expanding his aura so that it almost chilled the air around him.

"Stop spewing your hypocritical sermons about etiquette. This child has twice the morals than _you_ will ever have, old man."

Father and son matched glares for some minutes before the royal consort conceded and backed down, changing the subject in order to preserve what was left of his pride.

"As for you and I, my son, we shall take the night mares into battle as our mounts."

"Mounted? Me?" Phobos shook his head. "No. It'll just hamper with my concentration. I'm going into meditation until the battle to draw up my powers. What's the use if I can't concentrate enough to use them? I'll stay on foot."

"You will ride a night mare with me. If you are Prince of Metamoor, you must look the part." The king's stern statement left no room for argument. "Dismount in the fight if you will, but in the charge you will ride the mare."

With a shrug, Phobos left the council chamber, no longer wanting to speak with his father, and needing all the time left to him before the war so that he could meditate. He had to admit, despite his aversion to riding into battle, that the night mares were a good choice of steed. They stood taller than any ordinary horse, and they were jet black all over their bodies - except for the flames that curled around as tail, mane and feather, or the liquid fires that dripped from their eyes and muzzle. It was a very rare breed of magical creature, and aptly named; the very beasts that nightmares were made of.

A twang in his stomach reminded Phobos that he was hungry, as he had skipped lunch in order to join the war council. Gritting his teeth, the prince reminded himself that he had no time for hunger now. Now was the time to reach his limits, to draw all his abilities together by meditation. This would test the very confines of his magical potential, and, if he was able to concentrate enough, perhaps even surpass them.

But the time for thinking was over. The time for war had come.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author Note:** Woah. Chapter 7. I really didn't think that Origin would make it this far. To be honest, I had it pegged down as something that would fizzle to a finish after about chapter 3, but everything has linked into place so perfectly, and all you readers have left such wonderful reviews. You keep the fingers typing. My love to you all. There's still so much more to do, too.

As for this chapter… well, it was fun to write, that's for certain. I can safely say that I have never written a battleground scene before. It's a challenge.

Hmm. Phobos' father doesn't really seem to be that popular XD That wasn't intentional, but I needed to show him as a contrast to Phobos. You know how boys will be boys. oO

---

**Origin**

**Chaper 7 - To Arms!**

One of the main drawbacks of possessing an arcane power was the meditation that it took to preserve energy. The dawn of the scheduled time of battle was fast approaching, and, in the three days since the hurried council of war had been held, Phobos had hardly moved. He was seated cross-legged on the floor in his chambers, and had slept little and eaten nothing. The hunger was sickening, but the mage had long ago acknowledged that this concentration was a sacrifice he had to make in order to reach his full potential. Perhaps one day he would be powerful enough to be able to cast his magic without days of preparation.

The prince tensed as the door to his chambers opened suddenly, startling him a little from his deep deliberation. A lock of familiar golden hair appeared from behind the door, followed by the rest of Cedric's head. The young shapeshifter entered the room quietly, carrying a tray on which was a hearty meal, perhaps too much even for a full grown man to manage. The sight of food made Phobos' stomach wrench painfully.

"Cedric, did I not order you to leave me be?" He asked through grit teeth, trying to keep his concentration strong.

"Well… yes, my prince, but I thought you would be hungry by now." The boy admitted sheepishly, setting the tray down before his master and sitting opposite. It took all of Phobos' self control to keep him from ravenously devouring the food; it smelled as though it was fresh out of the kitchen.

"Idiot boy." He settled for saying. "You know I don't eat while I'm preserving my strength. If I stop meditating now then I won't be at full power tomorrow."

"But if you don't eat anything, then you'll collapse and be even less useful." Cedric pointed out. "I don't know much about magic and spells and all that, but I know that if you don't eat, you die, which is kind of a bad thing."

The innocent logic surprised Phobos, who could then see the amusing side of his own folly. With a ridiculed little chuckle, he shook his head in defeat. "Trust you to keep me from doing something stupid."

The prince examined the hot meal, settling on a shank of ox, which he consumed as elegantly as was possible without cutlery. Glancing up at Cedric, he saw that the amethyst eyes were fixed almost pointedly upon the tray. Swallowing his mouthful, the prince rolled his eyes.

"I suppose that you have missed the servants' mealtime in order to bring me this, and you are now regretting that decision - but ah! I see that you have cunningly brought far more than I could ever manage, so that you could finish my leftovers and waste nothing. Now listen here, Cedric. Don't you go hungry for me unless I _order_ you to, understand? Eat what you like."

So the prince watched as his servant gratefully tore into a hunk of meat, almost savage in his actions. Once again, it was obvious to see how people could construe Cedric as a potentially dangerous monster and give him wide berth, or try to chase him away. Mm, actually, on the topic…

"I take it the king has given you no trouble about your other form over the past couple of days?"

"Huh?" Cedric swallowed. "Um, no, not really, he's stayed out of my way really. I guess it's better than having him treat me like some little child, though, telling me that I shouldn't be helping because it's too dangerous."

"Oh, he means well." Phobos shrugged airily. "He's just a traditionalist idiot with more muscle than brains." Anything further that he was planning on saying was cut off by a tired yawn. "Mm. Dear me. How many hours until we head out to the field?"

"I think it is about seven, master." Cedric answered, finishing the meat and picking at salad leaves.

"Ah, plenty of time. I shall sleep for six, then, and be refreshed in time to prepare. The last thing I want, if I have to ride this blasted horse, is to be dozing off, and now that you've interrupted my concentration, I may as well make the most of it. Clean that away when you're done with it."

Without another word, the prince let himself fall backwards to lie down. He was asleep in instants, leaving a bewildered servant staring at a prone man who had been awake and talking just moments before.

---

Dawn came, and the birdsong shook Phobos from his sleep. Blinking his eyes to clear them, the prince was amused to see little Cedric draped across his chest, dead to the world, an occasional hissing snore-like noise being the only sign that he was still alive.

It was a shame, almost, to taint a child with war. Damn this all, it was unfair; at the very time Metamoor most needed to unite, it was torn apart. The prince nudged his servant awake, speaking no words to him. A stony nod was all that was needed. It was time to carry out the final preparations.

Phobos could feel his whole body, even his extremities, tingling with magical energy. He was so charged that sparks almost leaped from finger to finger, and several of the serving maids flinched as he brushed past them in the hallways towards the stables, where his father was waiting with two night mares, both in full war tack.

"Ah, Phobos. Meditation went all right?" The man spoke cheerfully, handing the reigns of one of the mares to his son.

"As well as can be expected, I suppose." The sorcerer answered, hoisting himself up on to the flaming steed, which whinnied in protest at the weight on its back. Behind the two men, the little blonde-haired Cedric stood in the doorway, ready to give a report from the commander of the army.

"We have an army of about eleven and a half thousand to their fourteen thousand. About four thousand of ours are cavalry, and it's divided into eight hundred raptor riders and the rest are on hugongs. Oh! We managed to find about thirty people who can ride battle pteragryphs, so they agreed to be heavy hitters from the sky. The infantry are divided into pikemen, swordsmen and archers, and we have two ballistae, which fire heavy bolts."

"Excellent." The king mounted his own steed, nodding in satisfaction. "With the pteragryph riders and the ballistae, we have a chance against their numbers. Tell the commander that I have told him to move out and position the troops in their ranks. Make sure that we face north. Let the archers have the rocks at the far edge of the field, they can advance from there if needs be, and tell him to work the rest out as he feels fit."

Cedric bowed and left the stables on his errand. Phobos' father was wearing a look of subdued triumph; the news that there would be pteragryph riders was good news indeed. Pteragryps were one of the wonders of the Metamoor sky. Half reptile and half bird, they were cunning predators, sharing rocky crags with their proud and fiery roc cousins. Within sharp beaks were hidden rows of razor-like fangs, and their leathery wings were tipped with sharp claws, not to mention the dreadful talons, large enough to snatch away a full grown cow.

Since pteragryph riders generally rode in pairs on the huge creatures, one to steer the beast and control it, and the other to hurl javelins from above or skewer other warriors mounted on flying beings in a vicious joust, having thirty riders meant fifteen winged demons striking from above.

Looking at his father's face, Phobos could already see the victory in the man's eyes. The sheer numbers of the opposition were not quite so daunting now that the news of pteragryphs and ballistae had come from Cedric.

"Come, then. It is time to go." The king gestured. Phobos nodded, coaxing his horse into a brisk trot out towards the battlefield.

The sight was phenomenal. The ranks were perfect. The eight hundred raptors lined the front, preparing to lead the charge, their riders armed with large bastard swords of the same style that the king fought with. While these weapons were too weighty to swing with one hand, to a skilled rider it was the work of but an instance to drop the reigns for a moment and slice hard before regaining control of the mount. Behind the raptors, in ranks of three lines deep, were the hugong riders, armed with long, light spears. Some carried bows, making up the cavalry to include mounted archers.

Then the formidable infantry was organised in ranks according to the weapons they carried. The pikemen were at the front, ready to repel the enemy cavalry, while the swordsmen stood behind them in loose formation, ready for the charge. At the back stood well-organised archers, all equipped with longbows, a full quiver and a small sword, should they need to engage in close combat. Lastly, the two ballistae were position at the flanks of the army to provide additional cover, and the pteragryph riders had already taken to the air.

Cedric was no longer in his human form. Instead, the young naga bowed at his approaching prince and king as they took their place at the head of the army.

It was not long before one of the pteragryphs came in low so that the two riders could make their report.

"The enemy approaches, sires. They are led by the mesmer Silas and his honour guard, they ride swamp lizards."

"Thank you." The king nodded, and the pteragryph returned to its vantage point high above, with the other winged riders. In the distance, at the other side of the Hugong Nesting Field, the enemy army came into view. "It's time."

A loud roar started through the ranks of the soldiers, the swordsmen banging their swords on their shields and all the others waving their weapons in the air. Cedric, who was standing ready next to Phobos, tensed a little as he saw the expanse of the military they were about to face. He was scared, there was no denying it, but he was confident at the same time that he and Phobos would be able to protect each other.

The commander of the army, astride a raptor decorated with all sorts of feathers from colourful birds, rode up to the prince and the king.

"Everyone is ready, Sire."

"Excellent. Go to the head of the infantry. As soon as you hear my signal, or as soon as the cavalry start to move out, position the pikemen to repel any charge that may break through and send the swordsmen through after we have a safe passage through their cavalry ranks."

The commander nodded, riding to take his place at the head of the infantry. As the morale-raising cry died down, a heavy silence fell over the battlefield. The king muttered orders to a scout near him, telling him to inform the archers to fire as soon as the enemy came within range. The scout hurried off just as the king raised his sword into the air.

"At my signal, Phobos, we lead the charge."

Phobos nodded, one hand absently running over the pommel of a small curved sword he had, just in case his magic failed him at a crucial moment. Next to him, he felt Cedric tense up even more.

The king's sword arm dropped.

With a yell, Phobos and his father urged their fiery horses into a canter, which galvanised the raptor and hugong riders to follow suit. The charge was underway. The king shouted to Phobos to prepare a shield for the army, but the prince brushed this order aside, or maybe he simply didn't hear it, for he broke away from the main bulk of the army, followed by Cedric, and slowed his horse to a trot.

Out of thin air, the thaumaturge wove a bolt of magical fire, hurling it into the fray just as his cavalry clashed with the enemy's head to head. The pikemen moved forward, goring any advancing soldiers who made it passed the ranks of hugong riders.

A small group broke off, heading towards Phobos, who was conjuring another fireball to launch. They raised their weapons and were about to strike the prince down when Cedric's long tail whipped them from their mounts, sending them flying to the ground, winded. One, who had dodge the heavy blow, slashed down at the snake-man's torso, but the natural scale armour over Cedric's upper body deflected the slice. The soldier did not have time for a second attempt, as the naga's vicious claws found him, ripping him from his horse.

"Good work, boy!" Phobos called as lightning leaped from his hands, striking down another group who were approaching him. "Keep it up!"

The enemy infantry began to advance. A volley of arrows rained down towards the fighting cavalry, but, at the last instant, Phobos managed to erect a wall of his energy to deflect them.

He was tiring a little already. He had rarely used his magic as an offensive weapon against living people before, and on a mass scale, it was more taxing than he had anticipated.

The swordsmen clashed blades with the enemy infantry as the archers from both sides rained down arrows on them. The hugong riders, with help from those on raptors and the winged death from above in the form of pteragryphs eventually managed to break through the enemy heavy cavalry, advancing on the light cavalry and the archers.

The battle was entering its peak stage when the unthinkable happened, as far as Cedric and Phobos were concerned. A small squad of archers who had moved away from the main body had been firing on an infantry fight very near the prince and his bodyguard, the former hurling magic bolts into the combat and the latter dissuading anybody from interrupting them. One of the archers fired an arrow at the naga.

The arrow was sharp, and the archer was skilled. The sharp barbed point pierced Cedric straight through the chest. His startled cry alerted Phobos, who turned to see his little protégé struggling, trying to pull the arrow out, not realising that this was only damaging him more. Heartened by his success, the archer fired again, impaling Cedric through the stomach. The naga fell to the ground, lying still.

With a curse, Phobos urged his steed to turn, attempting to retreat from the middle of the fighting to a safer point, where he could cast his spells in peace. An arrow landed just in front of the horse, spooking it and causing it to rear up in protest. This action caught the platinum-haired rider by surprise, throwing him to the floor, though he was struck through the leg and shoulder by two arrows before he landed.

The pain was excruciating; it felt as though the wounded areas were burning away. Through a darkening haze, he saw his night mare fall as another arrow struck it through the flank.

In an act purely of instinct, Phobos fed all his saved magical power into staying alive. As his vision returned to him, he saw the Illusionist Silas not far away from him, lambasting a small group of infantrymen. Desperately, the mage tried to summon the energy for a magical arrow, but he could not manage it. Unconsciousness threatening, he did the only thing he could think of to do: reach out for the thrashing fire horse and cling on to it, panting against the agony of movement, as though the terrified animal would offer some relief from the pain of defeat.

What happened next, not even Phobos could have predicted. The mare's thrashing died down and then stopped altogether, while the prince himself began to feel less exhausted. The pain disappeared, leaving a strange prickling sensation in his skin, as though he was on fire with magical energy. A bright white light shone around him as he rose to his feet; he had never felt so alive! In his new euphoric state, the prince barely noticed that where the night mare had been there was now only a single wilted black rose.

Overflowing with power, now that he had absorbed his horse's life force, the prince yelled, throwing his head back to the heavens. The energy that surrounded him drove his hair up into the air as it drew rocks from the ground. The intense force that emanated from the prince, who had never held this much power before and was unable to contain, drove a huge crevasse through the ground towards the mesmer. Silas was swallowed instantly by the gaping chasm, and many of the soldiers near the shifting ground, both friend and foe, were thrown in.

As the haemorrhaging energy died down a little, Phobos fell to his knees again, feeling the pain from his shoulder and his thigh, although it was slightly numbed. As a cheer rose around the battlefield, and he saw his soldiers chasing the routed enemy, he realised that they had won.

"Make sure that all of the traitors are captured, let them await my judgement." He called out, before falling back. Someone picked him up gently, carrying him back towards the castle, and he gestured towards the fallen Cedric, who had reverted back to his human form. "The little blonde boy – make sure you bring him back too."

Metamoor was safe once again; the war had been won. Not only that, but, Phobos thought to himself, he had discovered something new. He was able to absorb the life force of others and use it to fuel his own magical potential. This ability would surely prove useful.

He would start seeing how long the effects lasted by absorbing the life force of every last one of the traitorous enemy army. It seemed a suitable punishment.


	8. Chapter 8

**Writer's Block** is a terrible thing. It's even worse when you know exactly what you're going to write because you meticulously planned it all before posting the last chapter, but the right words just don't seem to come.

In translation: Sorry this is so late. I've been uninspired (lethargic).

**Also** concerning Candracar. I have seen it spelt both as Candracar and Kandrakar, and, really, it seems to be a toss-up as to which is canon. So I've decided to use the spelling which, in my opinion, is more aesthetically pleasing, and that would be Candracar. Sorry to all you Kandrakar!lovers.

---

**Origin**

**Chapter 8 - Securing His Highness' Throne**

Perhaps one of the worst parts of war, Phobos found after the disastrous battle, was recovering from it. For several weeks after the victory over the rebellion, the prince had suffered from recurring nightmares of it, and he was haunted by his own lust to feel that immense power again.

For some reason, maybe something to do with the life-force he had absorbed from the unfortunate horse, _his_ wounds had healed remarkably quickly, while all those countless soldiers who had sustained injuries still wandered about covered in bandages.

The death count after the battle had been high on both sides, but comparatively small in Phobos' army compared to his opposition. The enemy's mighty army of near fifteen hundred had been almost completely wiped out, and the surrendering survivors had been imprisoned to await the prince's pleasure.

The king was among those confirmed dead. His body had been recovered some time after the fight had ended, when those healthy enough to move brought the dead and injured back to the first aid tents. Upon hearing this, Phobos had ordered his father's body inhumed in the rose garden, where the late queen now slept. This ceremony was accompanied by a small, private funeral, which Phobos did not attend.

Instead, he was more interested with two developments concerning him. The first was connected to his newly uncovered, seemingly innate ability to assimilate the life-force of others and use it as his own power. The second seemed trivial in comparison, but was still a matter of higher priority, and that was how Cedric was recovering and changing after the experience of war. Whatever remnants of childish innocence were in the shapeshifter had been dashed away, and replaced with a snake-like cunning and an almost jaded view on life.

The rate at which Phobos had healed was emphasised by the state in which his young servant was. While it was true that Cedric had been injured much more grievously than Phobos had been, the arrow to his chest grazing a lung and rendering him frequently short of breath these days, there should not have been such a huge gap in their recovery. While Phobos was now able to walk without a limp, or endure a punch in the shoulder where the arrow had hit without a flinch, Cedric was in the healers' rooms at dawn every morning as they changed the bandages that swathed his torso. It was his normal state to pant as though he had just run a marathon, and this shortness of breath sometimes became so bad that he had to pause for air several times in a sentence.

Compared to the nastiness of his chest wound, the arrow to the gut had missed all vital organs, and had healed much cleaner, thankfully not affecting his appetite or his metabolism. This good news shone through the dark symptoms, and gave the healers, and indeed Phobos himself, a hope that the shapeshifter would make a full recovery in time.

Despite all the concern he felt, though, Phobos had visited Cedric only once - when the young man had still been unconscious. Since then, apart from glimpses in the corridors of the castle, they had not laid eyes upon each other. The prince spent much of his time now in his chambers, experimenting with the captured enemy soldiers, or tinkering with the very power-absorbing crown his mother had fatally tried to persuade him to wear. None of the servants dared ask about the vase of black roses that had suddenly appeared on the table beside his bed.

He had little time in the aftermath of the battle, however. For the first time in anyone's living memory, Metamoor was without a sovereign. The little princess, yet unnamed, was still far too young to take her rightful place as queen, and the populace were reluctant to break the age-old tradition of female monarchs and name Phobos as king. So, under an emergency council of elders and tacticians, some of who were popular and some who had bullied their way to power, Metamoor floundered forwards. For all his arcane prowess and royal blood, Phobos was shunted to the side, as though people believed he was some sort of dangerous, unstable bomb, liable to destroy what they held dear. After the abrupt conclusion of the war, it was easy to see their reasoning, but the idea that he was being substituted as leader of the country by a group of bickering half-wits was almost too much for him to bear.

Two obstacles stood in the way of his claiming the throne: his infant sister and the elected council. The council would be easy enough to remedy; as soon as he had re-established his heritage, he would be able to overrule them. The last remaining problem was his sister. Getting rid of her while retaining public face was proving to be tricky.

Weeks passed. Phobos had very little success with whatever result he was trying to obtain by fixing the crown, and his agitation grew. At last, he gave up his voluntary solitude and summoned Cedric to him. Finally the little naga had been freed of the bandages, but he still wheezed a little when he breathed, and especially when he talked, making his voice sound even more serpentine than it had previously. It didn't seem likely that the blonde shapeshifter would ever fully lose the rasping.

"How do I get her out of the way, the little harridan?" The prince snarled, surveying the landscape from his balcony, Cedric beside him. "How do I get rid of her without obviously marking myself as the perpetrator?"

Cedric considered this for a while and then shrugged, saying quietly, "She has not yet been named, correct?" Continuing at Phobos' curt nod, he added, "Then simply blame the fairies."

Phobos whirled on Cedric, irritated with the apparent nonsense that was spouting from his young servant's mouth, before the implications of what was being said dawned on him.

"Ah, I see. A _changeling_ child. Perfect."

A long-standing myth in Metamoor was that concerning the naming of children. Ceremonies often took place in the days after the birth, thanks to an ancient belief of troublesome fairyfolk, though for the young princess, circumstances had made this impossible. According to this myth, long ago the fairy patriarch had borne offerings of peace to the citizens of Meridian, with a negotiation of a peaceful co-existence. A mischievous younger fairy had stolen the gifts from the Metamoorian queen of the time, who had cursed the fairyfolk, disallowing them on to her land. In retaliation, the fairy patriarch had decreed that any unnamed child was fair bait to his warriors, to be snatched away and replaced by a fairy child, which would grow up in its place. Though the paranoia of this myth had worn off, most Metamoorians still knew of it. It was still strong enough to bring the results Phobos wanted; his sister still had no name, after all.

"Say that it was too late to save her from being switched." Cedric continued, in his odd, sibilant hiss of a voice. "You can then destroy her and no one will blame you."

"It is too early to have her killed." Phobos replied, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the view below. "I still need her, if I am to pursue omnipotence. Spread the word to the staff that Phobos is merciful, and will allow the changeling child to grow as a servant in his palace. Assign two officers to act as her parents, and a nurse for when they are on duty. I trust you with this, Cedric, make sure I am not disappointed."

Cedric bowed his way out of the prince's chambers, leaving Phobos alone with his plotting.

---

So it came to be that the people of Metamoor accepted Phobos as their monarch. He was still addressed as prince, as, it seemed, the majority held the hopes that the 'stolen' baby princess would soon be found, and refused to give her older brother the title of king. The lack of the title did not aggravate Phobos, who bitterly remembered his father's ideals and attitude to others under the same name, as much as it could have done, but the blatant insubordination of his citizens instilled a seed of paranoia in him that would never diminish.

The dissolution of the Council of Elders was the first action Phobos took as recognised ruler, and the next was to appoint Cedric a lieutenant in his army. Naturally, this cause many of the longer-serving soldiers to mutter rebelliously, but none of them muttered too loud, remembering what the shapeshifter and his master had become on the battlefield.

The princess was raised quietly and almost secretly in the castle kitchens, where two low-ranked officers tended to her whims when they were off duty, and the royal nurse, whose ancestor had long, long ago tended to the baby Phobos, treated the girl when her 'parents' were busy. She was kept out of the prince's way, and he ignored her very existence, referring to her rarely and only as 'the servant child'.

The last of the prisoners from the battlefield which claimed his father absorbed, Phobos turned his power-accumulating attentions to the land. Metamoor was a magical country, arcane energy was the very life force that kept the soils fertile, the rivers flowing and the seasons changing. The potential was astounding, and the prince researched geology and the history of the dimension tirelessly, looking for a way to tap into almost limitless wells.

In this, Cedric had proved surprisingly useful. Once again, the prince realised what a boon it was that he had found the young orphan - if he was even an orphan, Phobos realised he hadn't ever asked anything about the shapeshifter's parents - in the streets and picked him up. With the proper care and a chance to grow to full potential, the golden-blonde's sharp intelligence and quick wit had served Phobos well. It seemed that, having grown up in the hostile, uncivilised swamplands past the outskirts of the main city, Cedric had quite a knowledge of the way the land changed.

"There's a fissure about here." The shapeshifter pointed at a large green circle on a map of Metamoor that he and his prince were examining, glancing up to gauge Phobos' reaction. "Oh, there's no point trying to get to it. It's right in the middle of the mire; you'd sink down and never resurface. I've seen too many lurdens die that way. However, the ground around the edges of the mire where the crack is are the most fertile I've seen. You need something that will slip beneath the surface of the earth and absorb powers without risking earthquakes or other such disturbances."

Phobos raised his eyes to the vase of black roses that had once been living people, and a brilliant idea came to him.

"Roots. Plant roots. That way, I will channel the energy straight to a room in the castle, where I can go to absorb it. Roots are a natural occurrence. The land will not reject what it was designed to accept."

"The roots will have to be big, my prince?" His advisor queried. "How will you hide your intent from the people when they see these roots?"

"Why would I need to hide it?" Phobos waved a hand impatiently. "The idiots down there are blissfully ignorant to the beauty of the arcane. They would not know magical potential if their little lives depended on it. If I even started to explain what I was doing, they would stare blankly and wander away to find something to eat. No, they will not question me. All they know is that I am doing what I am doing for the good of Metamoor."

"… and Candracar, my prince? They will not sit by and allow you to do this, I am sure…"

Phobos' temper flared up at the mention of the dimension in which the Oracle dwelt.

"Candracar! Those useless, meddling imbeciles!" An ugly expression of hatred melded itself onto his thin, aristocratic face, and he spoke in a cold, bitter voice. "Candracar will do nothing to interfere with the course of events on Metamoor, they have already made me quite aware of this fact. Apparently it is against their laws to change the course that history is writing - but of course, they manage to find loopholes all the time and make a nuisance of themselves - !"

The thaumaturge ran a distracted hand through his pale braided hair, calming himself.

"No, Candracar will see and will squabble, no doubt, but they will not act to oppose me becoming the most powerful mage. This is my Metamoor, and the land _will_ give me the power that is _finally_ mine by right!"

Cedric said nothing in response, silently suspecting, however, that Candracar _would_ find a way to interfere with a man draining the life from his kingdom just to surpass his relatives.


	9. Chapter 9

**Once again** I apologise for the lateness of this chapter. The days have just seemed to fly by without my writing it, what with exams and other silly things like that.

**Concerning** the Oracle of Candracar… Hmm. How to put this. I seem to have personified him as a little bit of a pretentious dick. This is a liberty on my part, as you only really see the Oracle with people he likes, to whom he is generally friendly, and something tells me he probably doesn't like Phobos much. Hence the pretentious dick-ness.

**Moral values** seem to crop up a little in this chapter. :/ Hmm. Well, if it makes you think, then it was worth the effort it took to write it.

---

**Origin**

**Chapter 9 - Isolation**

_Including the Cedric side story: __**The Love of My Life**_

"I told you that Candracar would not stand for it, my Prince." Cedric rasped as his platinum-haired master tore along the corridor, seething.

"We are out of their jurisdiction!" Phobos snarled, malevolence emanating from his person like tendrils of evil. "He has _no_ right to get himself involved with us, and he has even less right being in _my _dimension!"

All had been going well for the sovereign of Metamoor; his subjects toiled on with their lives, not questioning the large roots that had appeared suddenly, plunging into areas of wasteland and culminating at the palace. They did not seem to realise that the mana, the very life force of the land, was being slowly drained, and, thanks to the cosmic links between the dimensions, the supply never depleted noticeably. Instead, it was shared between the worlds. What Phobos took for himself did not deprive others.

Yet, barely a week after his installation of the root-tapping system, Phobos had had a messenger from the Candracar Council of Elders - useless old fools that they were - demanding an audience between him and the Oracle. As unexpected and as impulsive as ever, Candracar had given Phobos barely enough time to work himself up into a fury, calling the meeting in the afternoon on the same day of their first correspondence. This, too, irritated the prince, who thought that the interfering morons should at least have the decency of giving him a week's notice.

This abruptness from the Candracar Council, combined with the strenuous effects that the overload of magical potential was having on his untrained body was testing his limits, and the stress had propelled him into a veritable frenzy of wrath.

"When we get to the conference room, Cedric, I don't care what you do, but if you stand too near me then on your own head be it." The thaumaturge growled through grit, bared teeth. He was quite a sight to behold; his face was white with rage, shoulders tensed and fists clenched so hard that it was almost painful. His arms were shaking.

And there, in the conference room, hovering three feet above the ground, wearing the expression of one who has been enlightened to the secrets of the multiverse, sat the source of Phobos' woes: Candracar's own Oracle.

"Get out! _Get out!_" Phobos shrieked, before the Oracle could give a single greeting. "You are not welcome here! You have no right to be here! _Get out of my country!_"

"Your country, Phobos?" The Oracle spoke quite calmly, yet he seemed almost detached from the situation, and his voice carried a cold, distant tone. "I was under the impression that you had usurped the throne from Metamoor's rightful ruler, making this country no more yours than mine."

He held up his hand before Phobos could speak the angry retort playing about his lips.

"_However_, I have let you take this kingdom. I have let you get away with very many things recently, Phobos, but I will no longer stand by and let you alter history. When you started to tap the land's life source for your own, that was when you became too selfish for me to ignore you any longer."

By now, Phobos was apoplectic, barely able to control his lips enough to form the words he spat, voice dripping with hatred:

"I thought it was against your laws for you to ever interfere with the worlds?"

"That is true, except in circumstances which endanger the _future_ of the worlds. Then it is at my discretion whether Candracar intervenes or lets time run its course." The red eyes of the Oracle roved over Cedric, who was unobtrusively loitering in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall. "For example… your pet there. Picked up from the Meridian streets, yes? That was an uncharacteristic act of mercy that not even we foresaw, Phobos."

The prince, confused enough by the apparent change of subject to calm himself a little, let his gaze fall on Cedric, whose purple eyes bored fearlessly into the Oracle's.

"What of it?"

"Of course you wouldn't be aware… but in the future that _we_ had foreseen, this child was brutally stoned to death only days after you had spoken to him, and his corpse was enough to keep a small family alive for half a month. That family, of course, has now vanished, and the child leads a prosperous life. One would have expected someone like _you_ to put the lives of the Meridianites over a shapeshifter -"

Cedric interrupted whatever the Oracle would next have said by storming out of the room, not meeting the stares of the prince or his guest. The door slammed behind him with such force that the plaster on the frame chipped. The Oracle shook his head in what seemed to be amusement.

"Ah, and with a temper like his master's…"

"_What do you expect_!?" Phobos roared, wheeling around on the Oracle. "You just told him that he should have been _dead_ months ago, that he would have been _eaten_, and you make snide remarks because he didn't _thank_ you for that knowledge?"

"I would have thought he would accept the idea," the Oracle said coldly, "after his kind have eaten so many of the Meridianites. You didn't think they hated shapeshifters for nothing, did you?"

"Wh - that's not - I -" The thaumaturge spluttered, his ire rendering him incoherent. The Oracle's raised hand stopped him from speaking further.

"My point _is_ that, while we could have fixed that mistake of yours instantly, we did _not_. Nor did we take action when you passed your sister off as illegitimate. Now that you take the land's power as your own, in the face of your people being so poor that they would make corpses from the street their food… _that_ Candracar _will not _allow."

"There is enough mana in the infinite dimensions. What I take will make no difference. Now I must insist that you get out of my country." Phobos spoke in icy politeness, causing the Oracle to sigh.

"You refuse to see sense. I feared as much. I _foresaw_ as much. Very well, Candracar shall withdraw from Metamoor for now, but in order to put an end to your ridiculous scheme, we shall raise a barrier between this dimension and the others."

"What will that accomplish?"

"We shall isolate Metamoor's mana flow, and that will limit it. When the mana runs out, the land will die. Perhaps the predicament your people will be in shall appeal to your sympathies and persuade you to abandon this selfish path you chose. Fare you well, then, 'til we meet next."

"What!? You - !" Phobos bared his teeth, a lance of magical energy emanating from his person as the Oracle vanished, striking the spot where the other man had been moments before. The prince howled at the empty room: "That does it! Do you hear me, Candracar!? You're no longer allied to Metamoor! _Consider yourselves at war!_"

---

While Phobos hurled his curses at an empty room, his young servant was striding out of the castle, lost in troubled thoughts. The most of his soul, corrupted by war and the hatred which he had received at the hands of the city dwellers, was indifferent about the supposed fate he would have met, but that small part of him that remained altruistic wondered, perhaps, if it would have been better for his death. After all, he reasoned with himself, his death would have meant that a family would have been bought time, perhaps enough time to find a way to survive.

The fact that his body would have been eaten bothered him more than it should have done. By nature, he was nothing like a vegetarian; he took his meat near raw, and as bloody as the cooks at the castle could be persuaded to leave it. Before he had ventured to Meridian, when he had lived in the swamp, he had survived by feeding off an assortment of small rodents and swamp reptiles. When larger beings had stumbled into his domain, it was a rare treat.

Faces of long-forgotten meals flew through his mind. Were there any city dwellers in the mass of lurden children and wading birds? It was impossible to be sure. The idea that his food could be talking to him while he ingested it had always bothered him a little, so he had tended to shut his mind to the voices and the faces of his victims. What a time to be reminded of those days now, dressed as he was in the finery of a lieutenant, and being the favourite of the prince.

When the shapeshifter again began to pay attention to his surroundings, he realised that his wandering had taken him in to Meridian city. Nearby, people were shouting something. The sound was so piercing that Cedric found himself wondering at the fact he hadn't heard it before. He made a movement that looked merely like he was wetting his lips with his tongue; he was, in fact, tasting the air. There was… panic. Fear.

Turning a corner into the main street, Cedric saw the source of the commotion. A large black beast was climbing expertly around the roofs of two terraced houses, swiping with vicious-looking claws at the terrified townspeople below.

"Lord Cedric!" One of the men had spotted him and hurried over. Cedric supposed that his reputation had preceded his arrival, as no one in the town had known his name previously. "My Lord Cedric, the monster is attacking us! Please defend Meridian!"

Cedric shrugged and tasted the air again. The panic of the people was mixed with the anger of the beast, that was expected, but there was something familiar about the taste of the monster's scent… Ah.

A hatred welled up inside the shapeshifter, bringing with it a desire to hurt these begging fools surrounding him. All altruistic feelings disappeared. They _surely_ knew what he was, otherwise they would not ask him to single-handedly defend their city, and yet they asked him to attack one of his own after their treatment of him?

"Go home. All of you. Get away." He snapped loudly in his snake-like voice. Some of the Meridianites thankfully dropped their weapons and fled, some stopped what they were doing uncertainly, but most ignored him. Irritated, the blonde youth allowed part of the snake to show through his expression, and at his threatening roar, seeing the narrowed reptilian eyes, even the bravest of the Meridianites would have fled.

This left the young servant alone in the street with the rampaging beast. By now, it was aiming sticky webs at the fleeing townspeople, without much accuracy, and Cedric could see its tarantula-like similarities.

"Hey, why don't you come down?" He called out, as kindly as he could. "Show me a less scary form?"

The beast stopped still and Cedric smiled with grim satisfaction. No doubt the townspeople thought it was just a monster, they were too stupid to be able to spot a shapeshifter unless it changed in front of them.

"Come on." He tried again. "I won't hurt you. I'm one too, you see -"

"LIAR!" The furry mass before him screamed, throwing itself from the building to land straight in front of the unflinching Cedric. "They called you 'Lord'! You have rich clothes! They wouldn't let one be a _Lord!_"

"I promise you, I am." Cedric spoke calmly, trying to ignore the smell of rotting meat on the other shapeshifter's breath. It seemed that this one was a very recent refugee from the swamp. "A snake."

"Snake? Pah!" The spider-like creature in front of him spat on the ground. "Snakes!"

"And I see that you are a spider." The young lieutenant continued casually. "That form is good for the boondocks, but when you're living here in the city, you should take on a less conspicuous appearance, otherwise they will only hate you more."

"Hah! What do I care if they hate me? More of them running away just makes for an easy kill and easier prey…"

Cedric realised that this new shapeshifter was coping with the estrangement from the community in exactly the opposite way he had done. While he had adopted a humanoid form straight away, and struggled to keep a low profile, this newcomer revelled in the panic that its monstrous spider form instilled in the townspeople.

"Even so, when the prince learns his people are being terrorised, he will send someone to destroy you. Better to live in peace, don't you think?"

"Phobos is a -"

The spider was interrupted as Cedric's hand grabbed its arm with lightning speed, holding painfully tight.

"Insult Phobos and I promise you that it will be the last thing you _ever _do." He warned. The other shapeshifter pulled its arm away almost sulkily, speaking in a mocking voice.

"What's a rich snob like Phobos done to get such loyalty from a shapeshifter? Gave you those pretty clothes?"

"No." Cedric responded firmly. "He adopted me from the very predicament that you're in now and he gave me hope."

It was that statement that seemed to be the key. The spider in front of Cedric began to transform, reverting into what seemed to be its humanoid form. Cedric stared as the change took place.

The first thing he noticed was that it was a she.

She was not pretty, as standards went, with shaggy, unkempt black hair and piercing blue eyes. However, she had a light dabbling of freckles over her nose which was almost… cute, and Cedric caught himself swallowing. _It's because she's the only other shapeshifter you've met_, he told himself,_ that's why you're awkward_.

"So show me this amazing love for shapeshifters you claim he has." She spoke, and her voice was much softer now she was a humanoid form. "Give _me_ a home too!"


End file.
